


The Party

by JessC



Series: The Hammer Collection [2]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: F/M, Viking, excuse for porn, if I had a hammer, unpublished chapters, with good reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessC/pseuds/JessC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an argument with Frigg, Baldr nonetheless invites Freyja to her party. It doesn't end the way they expected, and Freyja reflects on her life-choices before confronting Frigg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Party

**Author's Note:**

> Another "hidden" chapter from my upcoming book "Ragnarok n'Roll".  
> (Because my parents might read the book)

Freyja left Gunhilda to her music, and sidled out of the room.  
She suddenly felt very nervous about going to the party. Would Frigg be expecting her? If not, would she want to see her? And Baldr... he would try and flirt with her. But she didn't need any of that kind of thing, she'd just lost her husband, for Odin's sake.  
She felt her palms begin to sweat, but nonetheless continued to make her way to Valaskjalf, where the music could already be heard, and the feast could already be smelled.  
She stepped into the convivial atmosphere with a heavier heart than she had been expecting, and allowed a dwarf to seat her at an immense table, with many other gods, goddesses, random divinities and dead Vikings.  
She uneasily tried to begin a conversation with the tall, blond random divinity to her left.  
“Uh, hi. I'm Freyja.”   
She offered her hand. As usual, instead of shaking it, he kissed it, something Freyja should have been used to by now but, for some reason, wasn't.  
“Moda.” he said, letting her hand drop.  
Something about him was familiar.  
“That's a- a- nice name...”  
Freyja found it hard not to stare at him. He reminded her of- something.  
“I thought Freyja was dead.” he said, bluntly, turning round to the table properly.  
“Um, no, I'm the reincarnation...” she said, slowly.  
“Are you quite well?”  
“What do you mean?”  
She had, of course, noticed that she couldn't find her words properly, and she was speaking quite slowly, but not because of illness... She couldn't put her finger on what he reminded her of...  
“You talk in a rather odd way.”  
That accent! Scandinavian, yet perfect English.  
“Are you related to Thor in any way?” she blurted, pleased her brain had managed to make a connection, even if it wasn't the right one.  
“Yes, I'm his son.”  
Freyja's inner voice came dangerously close to swearing.   
Her outer voice came even closer.  
“Shi-,” (she realised this was not terribly lady-like, so decided to turn it into another stutter). “She- seriously?” she eventually garbled.  
Odin's balls! His son? He could just as easily be his brother!  
“Yes...”  
“It's just- uh- I'm – I mean, I was- his wife.”  
“Oh? I thought you looked familiar. I have been on many journeys, and haven't had much time to come back and see my family as often as I would have liked.”  
“Where have you been?”  
It only seemed polite to try and keep the conversation going.  
“Jötunheim, Muspelheim, Vanaheim... The list is endless. It's been 1000 years. Alas, now I am condemned to dwell in Asgard, and continue my father's legacy along with my brothers.”  
Freyja loved the old-fashioned way of talking in Asgard, she felt like part of a Shakespearian play.  
“Brother?”  
“Magi. Did Thor not tell you of us?”  
Freyja thought. It had barely cropped up in conversation. They had never talked about children, past, present or future.  
“No, he didn't...” she said thoughtfully.  
The conversation trailed back into a mixture of embarrassed, sympathetic looks and an awkward silence.  
Why wouldn't he have told something like that? Maybe the past was behind him, but not that far, after all...   
He said he trusted her, was he hiding something?... Oh well, she would never know now.  
She turned to the random deity opposite her.  
“Hi, I'm Freyja.”  
The deity responded with a simple nod of the head.   
There was something odd about him, too. Not the same kind of odd as Moda, something about everything he did was- missing. Maybe it was the fact he was ginger.  
Despite the chatter in the hall, Freyja could clearly hear that when he moved, when he rearranged his cutlery, when he passed the mead-jug to his neighbour, there was – nothing.  
Nothing he did made any sound.  
She leaned towards him, suddenly aware of how tightly her hair was held in place.  
“What's your name?” she asked.  
He looked at her, then his green eyes darted around. He grabbed a spoon, and drizzled some honey onto his plate. He proceeded to write in it (in runes, but Freyja could understand these now).  
“Vidar” it said.  
Watching that whole process in silence was a very disturbing experience. Like watching a muted TV, but being in that TV, and hearing other noises being made.  
Moda stirred his mead with his little finger, not looking up from it he addressed Freyja.  
“That is Vidar, the silent god.”  
“No kidding...”  
Freyja was beginning to wonder if she had somehow consumed some substances of disputable legality, despite not having consumed anything since breakfast.  
“He's particularly quiet today. He fought in the Great Battle the other day. It was he who killed Fenrir.” Moda continued.  
“Oh.”  
Before Freyja could ask if Odin was supposed to kill Fenrir by himself or is he too much of a big shot to admit that someone else did it for him, Baldr sat down next to her, proffering her a goblet of mead.  
“Good evening, my sweet. You look famished.”  
Freyja reluctantly took the goblet, and nodded. She had eaten nothing since breakfast, and hadn't noticed how empty her stomach felt. Drinking mead on an empty stomach did not seem like a particularly good idea, but she did it anyway.  
It burned her growling insides, but not in a bad way.  
“Does Frigg know I'm here?” she asked, trailing her finger around the rim of the goblet.  
“Yes, she agreed to let you come. She doesn't want any angst for the rest of eternity.”  
Freyja giggled. That mead had not taken long to kick in.  
The food came thick and fast, music played, and Freyja kept feeling more and more intoxicated. She normally drank mead like water, but this was different. Maybe the mead was stronger, maybe the food was sweeter, but she felt as if she was on a cloud, drifting just outside of reality.  
Somehow, the meal ended, and everyone began dancing. Freyja had a permanent feeling of elation, and gladly danced with whoever took her hand.  
She saw Baldr a lot, he danced with her most of the time, one hand in her own, the other on her waist; he was a natural at waltzing.  
She swirled around the dance floor to the Celtic beats, the world becoming one gigantic, multicoloured blur... Baldr spoke, and she heard herself laugh, reply, dance for another song...  
Until...  
She couldn't remember any more.

She woke up. She felt bad. That was the best word she could think of.   
Bad.   
Her head pounded, her mouth felt like it was made of sand-paper. This was a hangover. She couldn't remember ever having one in Asgard before.  
How strong was that mead?  
She tried to remember...  
Ouch!  
Remembering hurt.   
Everything hurt.  
She pulled the blankets around her, and caught sight of them.  
Blue, huh?  
Why did that seem wrong? Thrudvang was red, Fólkvang was green... Where's blue?  
Her head pounded some more to remind her to stop asking questions.   
She felt something shift behind her. And something warm was draped over her.  
Thor? Was everything just a dream? Is everything back to normal?  
She felt a brief moment of elation as she turned around and found herself face-to-face with-  
That's not Thor.  
She gasped, and wanted to scream, but didn't, because she knew that would only make her headache worse.  
The eyes flashed open, and Freyja made a low squeaking sound. These eyes were green.  
“Baldr?!” she choked.  
She had never jumped out of a bed so quickly. She landed in a heap on the floor, only to realise she wasn't wearing anything. She grabbed the blanket, and used it to hide her shame. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she stood stock-still, doing neither, and trying to work out what was going on.  
Baldr seemed as shocked as her, his face was white as he, too, tried to discern the situation.  
“What happened?” gasped Freyja.  
She began shaking, partly because there was a chill, but also because of her own shame. What had she done? Why was she taking after the old Freyja?  
“Freyja, I swear, I don't know what's going on... I- I can't remember what happened... Oh, I'm so sorry!”  
He tried to get up, perhaps to comfort her, but Freyja backed away further. She didn't really know what she was supposed to feel... She didn't know if she should even be hating him. Maybe nothing happened?  
Oh, please! This is Asgard. The same place the old Freyja spent four nights with four dwarfs for a stinking necklace. Of course something happened!  
“Baldr...” she began, but had no idea how to finish that sentence.  
She felt strange, she felt violated, she felt betrayed.  
“Did you put me up to this? Did you spike my drink?” she eventually managed to articulate.  
“I swear, it wasn't me! Do you really believe I would spike my own drink as well?”  
Despite her throbbing head, that made sense.  
“I feel as if a Jötunn has been living in my head...” he groaned.  
“So, how did this happen? If you didn't orchestrate it, who did?” Freyja thought aloud.  
“I wish I knew... Right now, there is so much I wish to know...”  
“What? Like 'was it good for you, too?'” Freyja mocked.  
Baldr was taken aback.  
“Even if... we did do... That, neither of us was aware, neither of us is responsible for whatever we might have done. I have too much respect for you to do such a thing.”  
Freyja began ransacking her thoughts from the previous night.  
There was Moda, he couldn't be a suspect, they'd only just met. Even if he wanted to get off with her, he wouldn't let Baldr get in the way.  
Vidar? No, besides he'd never talk.  
Freyja inwardly chuckled at her own private joke.  
It needed to be someone who already knew both Baldr and Freyja, who wanted some sort of revenge, or maybe just out of spite...  
Oh.  
“Oh.” Freyja thought.  
“Oh.” Freyja said.  
“Frigg.” she gasped.  
“You really think she put us up to this?” Baldr murmured.  
“Who else could it be?”  
They stood in silence for a moment, trying to take everything in, trying to soothe their aching heads.  
“It's such a shame.” Baldr sighed.  
“What?”  
“I thought, maybe, we had something... Now, it's... There's no point...”  
He sat down heavily on the bed, his head in his hands.   
“Oh? Really...”  
Freyja felt bad all of a sudden. Not necessarily for hurting Baldr's feelings, but for regretting what they had probably done.  
Why should she feel bad about it?  
Her husband was dead, Baldr's wife was too. They had nothing to be ashamed of, they were both mature adults. Virginity or such-like wasn't a problem. There was no guilt.  
The only problem is that they didn't get a say in the matter.  
She sat down on the heap of blankets that formed when Baldr had scrambled to cover himself and pulled on the wrong corner, pulling the whole affair onto the floor.   
“Baldr, look, maybe this isn't as much of a problem as we think...”  
He looked at her, puzzled.  
She explained her vision of things, and he nodded slightly.  
“If only my mother could keep her nose out of other people's business. But, I suppose that's the problem when you know everyone's fate.”  
He still looked anxious, reminding Freyja of a friend's pet rabbit that was in a permanent state of fear, and that ended up dying of a heart-attack.  
Why was she thinking about such silly stuff?  
She stood up, taking some blankets with her, edging her way towards a pile of clothes on the other side of the room.  
“You're beautiful...” Baldr uttered.  
“Tell me about it... I'm the goddess of beauty, that compliment gets a bit repetitive.” she sighed, realising these were not in fact her clothes, but Baldr's.  
It was still easier than trailing a blanket, so she decided she could always return them.  
“No, I know... But there isn't a better word.”  
Freyja pulled on a tunic which was far too big for her, but did the job of a dress, so she elected to wear that.  
Then her OCD got the better of her, and she put the bed back together.  
“A woman around the house changes everything...” mumbled Baldr.  
“You weren't just going to leave it like that?” she said, sounding more shocked than initially planned.  
Baldr shrugged.  
He seemed lost in thought.  
“Gorgeous.” he exclaimed, causing Freyja to jump.  
“What?”  
“Does that have a better impact than beautiful?”  
“Um, not much...” she faltered.   
He sank back into thought, and Freyja sat next to him on the bed. Her hangover was nearly gone, but she lay her head back on the pillow in an attempt to clear what remained.  
“Hot?” he stated, “No, wait, that's worse.”  
Freyja giggled slightly.  
“When was the last time you did it?” she asked, quietly.  
“Did what?”  
“It.”  
“Before last night?”  
“Last night doesn't count. It doesn't count if you can't remember.”  
He thought again.  
“1540 years ago.” he said, eerily calmly.  
“Odin's butt-crack! Seriously?” Freyja blurted.  
“And you?”  
“Two weeks...”  
“Oh.”  
She looked at him side-on.   
That's a long time for anybody, god or otherwise.  
“Are the girls not that 'hot' in Hel?”  
“They're not that free to do whatever they want in Hel. We're all locked in, not allowed any fun.” he sighed, “I'm so glad that's over.”  
“Yeah...”  
Freyja had finally cleared her headache.  
“No hard feelings after last night, should there be a need for any?” Baldr asked, softly.  
He had a voice that made Freyja's knees feel like jelly.  
“No, don't worry.”  
She turned and kissed him on the cheek. A force stronger than her self-control seemed to have taken over her body.  
She saw him blush and instantly regretted it. Her feelings got very confused again. Only now, the hatred, and, dare she say it, even the fear, was gone.  
“How long have we known each other?” she asked, feeling very odd.  
“About five days, I suppose. This has gone pretty fast.” he joked.  
“There's worse.”  
“I'm sure there is. Especially the old Freyja.”  
“Yeah... I have a tendency to be tarred with the same brush, but I'm beginning to wonder if we really are that different. Her husband left her, so she had nothing to be guilty about. She did what she liked, and she was proud of it, she wasn't ashamed. I'm starting to think that I'm becoming more like that.”  
Freyja suddenly wondered why she was pouring her heart out like this.  
“How so?”  
“Well, my husband is gone, I may or may not have slept with someone else, either way, I don't need to be guilty, and I'm not any more. The old me would be at least ashamed.”  
She felt liberated. She suddenly didn't care if Thor came back or not. She had her life, she was going to have fun, dammit.   
Baldr had answered something, but she hadn't heard him. Instead she turned to him.  
“We don't know if we did it or not, do we?”  
“No...”  
“Why don't we at least confirm that?”  
“What?”  
“Hot.”  
“What?”  
“Hot. It's a great word. Tons better than beautiful.”  
Baldr smiled gently, and put an arm around her.  
“Then you're the hottest girl in the world.”  
Freyja kissed him. She enjoyed it, she revelled in the freedom it brought with it.(Although, she had never kissed someone with a beard before, and it resulted in a rather ticklish experience).  
Before long they were one with the bedsheets, and Baldr's tunic was tossed carelessly to the floor.   
She felt his hands through her hair, all over her body. He kissed her neck, her cheeks, anything he could reach, and she returned the gestures with even more fervour, glowing like a sunrise.  
Electricity ran up her back, down her arms and legs, it was exhilarating.  
She felt his every breath, warm against her hot skin, and loved it, loved him, loved her freedom.  
As it ended, and they began to fall asleep in each other's arms, Baldr whispered in her ear, almost under his breath;  
“1540 years. It was worth the wait.”

Once dressed, they made their determined way to Valaskjalf. Frigg was waiting for them, sat across Odin's throne, feet hanging over the arm rest.


End file.
